


The Narration of his Mom's Fellation

by EROgonomic



Category: Original Work
Genre: BBW, Blind Character, Deepthroating, F/F, F/M, Incest, MILF, Mother/Son Incest, Parent/Child Incest, blind perspective, cum-swapping, plump, thicc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 11:31:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12341832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EROgonomic/pseuds/EROgonomic
Summary: After trying, and failing, to seduce her son, Peter's mother finally has had enough. Coming home drunk, Peter's mother decides to play a game with him and his blind friend Gertrude, where he has to describe to Ger what his mother is doing...





	The Narration of his Mom's Fellation

Everyone is 18 or older, in case you were worried.

*****

When Peter was struggling, audibly, with his homework at the dining room table, his mother sometimes came over to "help". Her kind of "help" was generally putting a hand on his shoulder, bending over to get a closer look at the papers in front of her son in a way which caused her breasts, very round and very rarely kept back by a bra, to hang uncomfortably close to Peter's face, and then tenderly asking him what the issue was. No matter what, she always gave him the same loving advice: "try googling it?" At that point, he usually had googled it, but he'd act like he hadn't just to get his mom's tits out of his face and alleviate the perplexing stiffness in his groin. 

At first his arousal disturbed him. He didn't want to fuck his mother, or, at least, he believed that he didn't, and he knew that matriphilia was wrong, so the hardness his mother caused him in turn caused a few sleepless nights where he wondered if there might be something wrong with him. Eventually he decided that no, he was perfectly well; Any full and shapely breast next to a male teenager's head would cause that kind of erotic evocation, no matter whose breasts those were. 

Ironically, after he'd decided that he shouldn't be bothered by the allure of his mother's tits, the effect of her bending over beside him became less potent. While before he had to adjust himself every time, Peter now remained largely flaccid whenever his mother tried to "help". Those were not his mother's breasts beside him, he reasoned, just breasts; The taboo was largely gone. Given this, if Peter had been a smidgeon more self-aware, he would have realized that it was not the breasts that had turned him on but instead the woman who dangled them at his cheek. Alas, Peter's lecherous mother had to become more upfront to get what she wanted.

One time, this "help" went farther than usual. Peter had a habit of vocalizing unnecessarily: he argued with himself when he slept, he had to hold back from shouting during movies, and when he was stumped by homework he grumbled and groused. Unable to conjure a conclusion for his English essay after nearly an hour of sitting there, he muttered, "why did I sign up for honors fucking English."

His mother appeared in the door leading into the kitchen, "having trouble sweetie?"

"I'm fine, just stuck on the conclusion."

He noticed that she had on a bright red t-shirt, the shape of which was molded by her fatty pair of breasts, the inward curve of her middle and the mild paunch of her belly.

"Let me see."

She came closer and per usual she gripped his far shoulder and bent forward, causing her tits to loosely linger in her shirt. The pair hung beside him, ripe and demanding to be picked.

"What's it on?" she asked.

"Flannery O'Conner," he said. He rubbed his temple for no reason other than to pretend that he was thinking hard about the essay and not his mother's breasts. She wore a kind of flowery perfume and what it particularly smelled like Peter could never pin down. He only caught whiffs of it in the rare moments, such as this 'help', when they're bodies were close. 

"Who's that?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"Who's Flannery O'Conner?"

"Oh, a writer," he said, and added, "I'm doing my essay on her."

His mother laughed.

"You've said that already." 

she let go of his shoulder, stood up, grabbed nearby chair and seated herself beside Peter. The hand which before had been set on his shoulder now found a new spot on his thigh. It was a hot day, too hot a day for Peter to even wear shorts, so all he had on his bottom was boxers. His mother's hand, small but firm, was on the bare flesh of his leg, not far from his now livid, rigid junk. Thankfully, the table cloth went far enough over the side that his raging hard-on was not visible to either of them, though Peter could feel it trying to bust through his underwear.

"What are you saying about her," his mother asked him.

"How god plays into her stories." 

"And how does he play into them?" her fingers creeped further up his thigh. He looked at her and saw her smiling gently. He pretended nothing was wrong.

"Well, in a lot of her stories people are killed," he said, "or at least hurt physically, and usually this moment of violence is also sort of a moment of grace too, where symbols show up hinting that god is there both to the violent people and the one's violated-"

"Violated?" she asked. Her fingers rode up to the leg-hole of his boxers. Her pinky slipped underneath it.

"Well no one gets violated in that way," he said, "I meant suffering violence. Getting hurt or dying, or having your house burned down or something like that."

"Aren't conclusions supposed to be just summarize what you've already said?"

"Yeah."

Her every finger save her thumb rode up into his boxers, staying just barely out of his business.

"So just write down what you just told me in a paragraph," she said.

Her hand slipped out of his underwear and she brought her lips to his cheek, planting a kiss. Her other hand she set on his groin, her fingers softly clasped, as much as they could, around the tent in his boxers. The kiss took an unmotherly amount of time, and when she was finished she said, "you're welcome," while her fingers ran up his bulge to the tip. She scooted the chair back and left the table, but before she left the room, before Peter could shake off the shock, she said:

"I hated writing essays when I was in school, but the end was always the easiest part. I can't imagine an honors student having trouble with something like that," her eyes narrowed, "were you grumbling before just so you could get a kiss from mommy?"

He looked at her like a deer in headlights, then he smiled awkwardly and, as if his brain had yet to catch up with time, he said, "Thanks for the advice mom."

"You're welcome honey," she said, and went into the kitchen.

Peter would sit at the table for another hour, left to himself the whole time. He would not complete the conclusion of his essay until the following day.

He would spend the next few nights sleepless until he decided that his mother had, in another bout of carelessness, simply misplaced her hand several times that day, and it was in fact his horny imagination that had installed intention into her meandering fingers. None the less, he still masturbated a lot to the ordeal, though always replacing his mother in these recreations with someone who was almost identical to her in shape, smell and voice but different in face and, at first, relations. Originally, he pumped out a load or two every night to the idea of a strange woman or a made-up friend performing the act on him, though they always went farther than his mother had by releasing his cock from his boxers, bringing his helpless lips to theirs while jacking him off beneath the table. Nights passed and he dreamt instead of made up teachers performing the motions. 

After some time, he could not censor his fantasies; He started to pretend to be someone else, a made-up boy in a made-up world were incest carried no guilt, and freely he let himself be molested by fabricated older sisters, then concocted aunts, then lastly mothers, likewise fictional. This bore too close to the truth of the matter though, and after the face of one imagined mother turned, mid-orgasm, into that of his real on, remorse over took him. He abandoned the fantasy after that. His mother's little psychological operation failed.

Peter's mother had aged well, having past forty mostly in one piece. The slight sagging of her breasts and buttocks served to make them seem weightier and the few lines on her face complimented her beauty. None the less, she accepted that seducing her son would require more effort than it normally took to seduce a man.

Not to be undone, Peter's mom tried many other strategies to pique her son's libido. Frequently she'd brush by him, or ask for back and foot massages, or walk around the house after a shower with only her towel on. 

One of the more remarkable plots was to encourage Peter to do a horror movie night with her. She hated horror movies but it was the best excuse to cause some body-to-body contact with her son for an extended duration. It worked to a small extent but Peter's movie choices ultimately sabotaged her. The first film he chose was "The Burning", an old slasher flick, something his mother was comfortable with. They sat on the couch, and every time Cropsy the killer butchered someone with his shears she would slide slightly closer to her son, under the guise that she was taken up by fear. By the end of the film, the side her thigh was pressed against her son's, and the very last jump scare had her clinging to him. Unfortunately, he had to get up from her embrace to put on the next film, "The Void". 

The film was the exact opposite kind of movie she wanted to see that night. It was aggressively unsexy, making the fleshy organs required for intercourse seem putrid. 

Then came "The Babadook", which reminded her of when Peter was a kid and made her too sentimental to put her hands anywhere inappropriate. None the less, she was clinging to him again by the end. The fourth and final movie was "The Shining" and she fell asleep five minutes in. Peter pried himself free of her slumbering embrace, and slept in his own room that night while his mother was left on the couch.

Another remarkable attempt at driving her son into incestuous madness was to model some of her older, less well-fitting pieces of clothing for him, under the excuse that it was his job to tell her if they still looked good on her. She tried out a pair of cut off shorts which failed to cover the bottoms of her ass cheeks. Coming out into the living room where Peter waited, she made sure to twirl around so she saw the bare portion of her butt jiggle. 

She came out again, braless, in a tank top with a deep neckline which she hadn't worn for years, since before her breasts had started to sag. For that reason, the top was less revealing than it had been in the past, but still the straps were so narrow that the sides and cleavage of her breasts were on almost full display. She paired this with an uncomfortable pair of leggings which wedged into the cleft of her butt, outlining each cheek perfectly. Her breasts swayed freely beneath her top as she turned around to show off the near perfect outline of her ass the black leggings provided. Unable to help herself, she bent down and arched her back upward, presenting herself to peter. Looking back, she could see the how flushed his mother's wobbly buttocks was making him. She shook her ass, causing the teen to breath heavily, then stood up straight and hopped, clapping the two cheeks together.

She looked back at him and smiled.

"Roomy," she said.

She exchanged the tank top for a belly top. Unlike to the tank, this shirt exposed her more then than it had any time in the past, as her breasts had sagged below the shirt's bottom and now not only did the undersides of her breasts sway in plain sight but the bottoms of her brown areolas were visible too. She pretended to angst about her weight while toying with the slight paunch of her belly and making it and her breasts jiggle. This coaxed a complement on her figure out of her son, as she'd intended. 

Her modeling ultimately failed, though. Peter only thought his innocent mother was far more careless than he had previously imagined. After she came back out, deciding to lounge around the house in the cut off shorts and tank top, he said that it was a good thing that she'd decided to show off her old clothes in front of her son instead of someone less understanding. Anybody other than Peter might have felt that she was coming on to them.

After that, Peter's mother gave up on further seductive plots beyond her routine of exaggerated motherly affection: sloppily kissing him on the cheek, coming up from behind and pulling him against her chest or leaning over him when he was seated so her breasts lingered around his head. It wasn't until she came back drunk from a night out with her friends that her hesitation would break down and she would finally just do what she'd been wanting to do.

Peter had a friend over while his mother was out on the town. The two sat on the couch in the basement while Peter played on his ancient N64. His friend didn't feel left out though. He was speedrunning Mario 64, or at least trying to, and she could tell where he was in the game by the clacking sounds of the plastic controller and what noises came from the screen and the grunts of frustration that came from Peter. She couldn't see the concentration on his face nor the polygonal dreamland on screen. She couldn't see anything at all, and instead sat beside him, her faded, blue eyes pointed vaguely in the direction of the TV, clutching to her chest a large teddy bear that had once been Peter's. As he played, the blind girl, who called herself Ger but whose proper name was Gertrude, would advise him sarcastically.

"Don't slip Pete," she said.

"I won't," he replied.

"You don't wanna fall off the mountain, Pete."

"Thanks for the advice, Gertrude."

"Try not to die Pedro."

"Okay."

And so on.

Peter, though Gertrude couldn't see it, had inherited the bright, green eyes and angelic face of his absent father: a Don-Juan, truant to the lives of his many children. As his frustration peaked after failing to follow Ger's advice, the hairs across his lean body subtly bristled and angry colors flushed his face. When compared to the short and flat chested Gertrude, whose boyish hair, sweatpants and giant teddy bear obscured her maturity and gender, the two looked like brothers of disparate ages. Yet, each was as old as the other, each were seniors in high school, and each had an emptied bottle of beer beside them.

"Should have listened to me," Ger said after hearing Mario's cries as the plumber plunged down the mountain.

"I'm about done with Mario right now," he said while continuing the game.

"If you wanna do something else, you should read me a story again."

He laughed, "yeah, I'll pass."

"I heard the story you read last time has a sequel."

"I'd prefer not to read anything like that again."

A month prior, during a spell of boredom shared between the two, Peter had the idea of performing a dramatic reading of some bad erotica and Japanese porn comics. The last work he chose to read was a story called "Pounded in the Butt by My Own Butt". Ger thought it was hilarious. It took two weeks for the bad taste to leave Peter's mouth.

"Do you wanna know what the sequel's called, Pete?"

"Sure."

She took a second to recall the name, "It's something like 'Pounded in the butt by my own book 'Pounded in the butt by my own butt''"

"That sounds obnoxious. Oh wait no-" the clattering of his controller grew faster and harder until Ger could hear Mario fall down the mountain again, "Fuck, alright," Peter paused the game, and muted the TV with the remote beside him, "Let me google the 'butt book' book."

"Awesome," Gertrude said.

Before Peter could pull his phone from his pocket, they heard the front door unlock and a pair of feet drunkenly walk inside.

"Wait," Ger said, "what time is it?"

"It's nine."

"Is she supposed to be back this early?"

There was no response.

"Peter?"

"I'm shrugging right now, you just can't see it."

"That'd be funny if we were sure that it was your mom up there."

"Who else would have the key?"

Ger shrugged. The basement door opened.

"Hey," his mother called down the stairs, "You guys down there?"

"Yeah," Peter said.

"Is Gertrude still..." she said, coming down the stairs.

"Here?" Peter said, "yeah."

"Hello Gertrude," his mother said, reaching the floor of the basement, "Mind if I hang out with you-s?"

"Uh, sure mom," he moved closer to Ger, making space for his mother to sit on his other side. 

She moseyed over to the couch.

"How did your night go?" he asked.

There was no response. She sat next to him.

"Mom?" he said, shakily.

"What is it gonna take," His mother said, "When are you going to figure it out?"

Gertrude could smell the alcohol on the woman's breath and couldn't imagine how heavy with the stink of boos the air near Peter was. 

"Mom can you get off me?"

"What's going on," Ger asked, worry palpable in her voice.

Peter replied with nothing except some stressed out 'oh's and 'um's. 

"Remember this?" his mother said.

"Mom!"

"Pete," Ger said, growing upset, "what's going on?"

"She's leaning on me and, uh," He paused, "Her hand's, um-"

"Where's my hand?" his mother said.

"Her hand's on my pants."

"Where on your pants, baby?" his mother said.

"Mom, get off."

"I plan too," his mother said. 

"What?" he said

"Not until you tell poor Gerty what's going on."

"Her hand's on my crotch," He said to Gertrude who was squeezing the teddy tightly to her chest.

"Ok," was all Ger replied. Gertrude couldn't hear it, but since Peter stopped complaining further, she assumed that his mother had moved her hand away from his groin.

"What were you two doing down here?" his mother asked, "playing doctor?"

"We weren't-" Peter tried to say.

"True," his mother interrupted him, "You can't really show her yours when she's blind. Oh, Ger, please tell me he stuck-I mean didn't stick anything strange in your mouth."

"No, we-" Ger tried to say.

"Was it warm?" his mother asked, "was it sticky?"

"He didn't stick anything in my mouth," Ger said.

"We were playing Mario," Peter said.

"ah, so she was riding you like that green lizard guy."

"No mom I meant-"

"I know what you meant sweetie, I was only kidding."

"Yoshi," Ger said.

"Yoshi?" his mother repeated.

"Yoshi's the lizard that Mario rides," Ger said.

"So, she WAS riding you!" Peter's mother said to him, laughing.

"She was hanging out while I played," Peter said. He tried to make his displeasure clear with the tone of his voice, "mom, your hand's on my crotch again."

"Oh, sorry babe. Now, were you a good little boy and let Gertrude have a turn to play."

"I didn't want to play," Ger said, "I just wanted to sit and pester him."

"But wouldn't it have been a riot watching her running around in the game blind?" his mother said, "Hey, one of us should put their hand between her legs and see whose hand she thinks it is."

"Wow, miss Peter's mom," Gertrude said, "your kind of a dick when your drunk."

There was a stint of silence, before his mother snickered.

"That's why I like you Gertrude," she said, "Speaking of games, I'm getting tired so let's play one. Peter, you have to explain to Gertrude what I'm doing with my hands and other stuff, and I'm going to talk as little as possible, alright?"

"alright?" he repeated.

The blind girl heard movements from their side of the couch, but she couldn't figure what it was.

"Tell her, Peter," his mother said.

"Uh, she just took my hand into hers and lifted it up."

"How high up?" Gertrude asked.

"Are you serious?" Peter said.

Gertrude shrugged, "How high up?"

"Chest height," he said.

There was a slapping noise.

"Mom!"

"What's happening now?" Gertrude asked.

"She put my hand against her..." his voice trailed off.

"Pete," Ger said, "Come on."

"One of her breasts."

Ger squeezed the teddy bear harder. Peter gasped, and there were wet sounds coming from his direction

"Mom that's disgusting," he said, almost laughing.

"What now?" Ger said.

"She's licking my fingers. Wait mom-" the sounds got wetter, and there was a deep, rhythmic and throaty noise, like the start of a gag reflex.

"Can I guess?" Gertrude said.

"Uh, sure."

"Your mom is deepthroating your fingers now."

"well, I wouldn't say 'deepthroating', but yeah."

The slobbering ended and after a delay a new damp noise started, intertwined with the woman's breathing.

"Mom!" Peter said, "You need to stop! This is fucked up!"

The sounds paused, "I won't stop until you tell Gertrude what I'm doing."

The sounds resumed.

"You're licking my face," he said, "now get off!"

The noise stopped until Gertrude said, "Give me some more detail," and the sound of a of a mother's tongue against her son's face resumed.

"What the fuck, Ger."

"There's a lot of places on a face a tongue can go."

"She's licking my cheek."

"I'm gonna need a little more than that."

"Her tongue is starting from the part of my jaw below my cheek and going so far up that she's nearly licking the corner of my eyebrow."

"Is it hot and wet?"

"Both! It's a tongue, jackass!"

"Okay, I think I get the picture."

The noises stopped and Gertrude could hear Peter wiping saliva from his face. There was a reprieve before Gertrude heard rustling, and then a muffled pop. Patiently, the blind girl waited for some explanation, but all she could hear were the bugs chirping in the lawn outside the house.

"Well, what's happenin?" Gertrude asked.

Something was unzipped, and the two teenagers gasped at once.

"Mom..." Peter said, his voice wavering.

"Is she..." Gertrude muttered.

More clothes were rustled about.

"Mom," Peter said, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Pete," Gertrude said, "Tell me what's going on."

"You heard the zipper, right?" Peter asked.

"I know what she's doing but I can't see it, so, you know, describe it to me."

"Describe it," there was tension in his voice, "alright, my biological mother has just unzipped my pants and, in case you hadn't heard it, opened up the fly of my boxers and now has my penis out in the open. Happy?"

"Don't use the word Penis," Gertrude said.

"I'm fucking sorry?!" Peter said.

"It's an ugly word," Gertrude said, "use cock or dick or member instead." 

There was more rustling, this time the sound of skin against skin.

"Well, Gertrude," he said, "my mom just right now wrapped her fingers around my member-dick-cock."

"Has she started to do anything with it yet?"

"Nope, she's just holding it, looking at me like I'm sirloin."

Gertrude heard fleshy friction.

"Nevermind," he said, "she's jackin' me."

"Can you be more descriptive."

"Oh, for fucks sake. My mom is pumping my fat, livid, turgid cock."

"You need to work on your descriptors," Gertrude said. 

The sounds of the woman masturbating her son picked up pace.

"I liked 'fat'," Ger continued, "I like the idea of 'fat cocks', but 'livid' and 'turgid'? Nah. You should try more common words like 'hot' and 'stiff'. Also try sticking to only two adjectives at once."

"Out of the two of us," he said, "I'm the only one who can actually see my cock so- oh, uh-"

"what?"

"She licked the head of my dick."

"Say 'my mom licked the head of my dick'."

"Fuck off."

"What's making this kinky is that it's your mother, not just anybody, so reaffirm that's what's going on."

"Fine, my mommy just licked the head of my cock. Happy?"

"Saying 'Mommy' makes it even better. Stick to that."

Somebody slid off the couch, down to the floor in front of Peter.

"Is your mom on the floor now sit on the floor?" Gertrude asked.

There was no answer.

"Pete?"

"My mom is slowly brushing her lips up and down the bottom of my cock," Peter said, "and yeah, she's kneeling on the floor now."

"What are her lips like?"

"They're big, soft, and red."

"I don't know what red looks like."

"It attracts people, which is why a lot of fruits are red. It's why my mom has red lipstick on."

"is some of it getting on your, uh, dick?"

"I think so. Oof-" There was a delay before Peter said, "the head of my dick is in my mother's mouth. Her tongue is sticking out and licking around the underside of my cock. Jesus Ger, it feels so awkward talking like-"

The sound of sloppy suction resonated from below Peter.

"My mom is sucking my dick," he gasped, "she's taking me down to the hilt, god her throat is hot."

"Say 'my mommy is sucking my cock'," Gertrude interjected, "you're supposed to say 'mommy', remember?"

"I'm not," he gasped as the wet sounds grew louder, "d-doing that."

"also, say, 'my mommy's throat is so hot, my mommy's spit is all over my dick'. Say all of that."

"What the fuck is wrong with you."

"I'm not the one being deepthroated by my mom, and you might as well have fun while your committing a crime against nature. Now say it."

"Fine! M-my mommy is-"

He gasped as his mother slurped up his member towards the tip. There was a 'pop' the moment her lips left his head, and the sopping noises resumed as she went back down. Gertrude even heard the woman moan into her son's member.

Gertrude recited his lines for him in monotone: "mommy is sucking my cock, oh mommy's throat is so hot around my fat cock, golly my mommy's spit is all over my cock."

"Mommy's sucking my dick," Peter said over the wet sounds of what he described, "oh my stiff cock is stuck in mommy's tight throat. My fat cock is slimy with mommy's spit."

"There you go," Gertrude said, and slid down the couch towards them, putting the Teddy bear aside.

The sounds of the woman's mouth stopped and Peter let out a noise that was part sigh and part growl.

"She fucking took me to the hilt again. It's so deep in there, I don't know how she's not gagging right now."

"You're not fooling me Pete," Gertrude said.

"What? I'm serious."

"Your dick isn't that big."

"How would you know?"

Gertrude didn't answer, but instead reached, haphazardly, towards where she thought his mother was and found the woman's shoulder. Peter's mother went back pumping her son's cock with her lips, undeterred by whatever Ger was doing. The teen boy groaned weakly, and Gertrude's hand rode down his mother's back until it reached the rough wasteband of the woman's shorts, then the bare flesh of her buttocks only an inch further down. Gertrude's fingers went into the tight cleft between the woman's soft pair of butt cheeks.

"Is she wearing denim panties?" Gertrude asked, confused.

"They're cut off shorts," Peter said breathlessly.

Gertrude grabbed onto one of the older woman's ass cheeks, squeezing it and jiggling it around.

"God, Peter you're lucky, your mom's ass is so fat. My mom's a fitness freak so hers is small and hard."

"Why do you know how your mom's butt feels like?"

"I'll cop a feel from time to time. I'm blind so I can just pretend my hands went to the wrong place," Gertrude then rode her hand back up the older woman's body, until she found the woman's ponytail, "Hey, have you taken hold of the reigns yet?"

"Oh god," Peter said, "I feel like I'm going to cum soon."

Gertrude grabbed onto the woman's pony tail and as the woman was coming down on her son, the blind girl pushed her down harder. The woman gagged.

"Yeah, choke on your son's cock," Ger said and snickered.

"Jesus Ger," Peter muttered.

Gertrude pulled the woman's hair and head back, "your son's gonna cum in your filthy throat."

The blind girl then pushed the woman back onto the boy's dick, before pulling her back and pushing her down again.

"I'm, ugh-" Peter was cumming.

Gertrude pulled the woman's head back and tried to push it down again as Peter came, but instead she found the woman's head immovable; Peter's mother had stopped letting her face be used as a fleshlight. The boy's heavy breathing filled the basement, and Ger could hear the friction of his mother pumping his member with one hand while her lips suckled his head. The blind girl sat beside him, her hand on his mother's head, unsure if her friend had started to cum until she heard him grunt.

"mom..." he said.

Ger started to feel awkward and, wanting to throw some words into the atmosphere, she said the first thing that came to mind, "I wonder how bad your son's cum tastes."

There was no response until the sound of fleshy pumping slowed and stopped. Gertrude heard Peter's mother stand up, then a firm, feminine hand grabbed onto Gertrude's shoulder.

"Hey what-" Gertrude was interrupted by the woman's plump body sitting on the girl's scrawny lap, facing her. The smell of boos and perfume strangled Ger's nostrils. The woman's thick thighs overlapped Ger's, and another of the woman's hands wrapped around the blind girl's head and spread its fingers through her short hair. Ger's face was pulled closer.

"W-wait!" Gertrude said before her lips were forced against the woman's. The blind girl tried to clamp her lips shut but Peter's mother slipped her tongue between them and spat a sticky glob of saliva and semen into Ger's mouth. Gertrude gagged at the taste, trying to spit it out, but Peter's mother kept her lips and body pressed against Ger's, pressing the teen into the couch. 

In her mouth, Gertrude's tongue tried to dodge the sickly pearl of Peter's spunk but all that did was spread the flavor around her mouth. Peter's mother eventually got what she wanted: With tears streaming down her eyes and while gripping onto her attackers back, Gertrude swallowed the load, gagging immediately after. The woman pulled her mouth away, Leaving on Ger's lips a single black pube and a lolling drop of drool.

Gertrude groaned. Tears still streamed down her face. 

"Oh, god," she swallowed instinctively then presently gagged, "That's disgusting."

"Are you okay?!" Peter asked.

"I'll be fine, I got my question answered," she burped, "It tastes like chlorine. Oh god it's all around my mouth."

Peter's mother stood up and said, "I'm going to bed honey. The next time you want to play a game with mommy just ask."

She started up the stairs, and after a delay Peter said, "Thanks mom. Have a good night."

The basement door shut, and the two teenagers sat there on the couch, dazed, until Gertrude laid her head on Peter's thigh. From there she reached haphazardly for Peter's dick, still covered in his mother's spit, and traced her fingers up it until she reached the head. It was longer than expected.

"Pete," she said.

"Yeah?"

"I think by law you have to finger me now."

"What?"

"The fourteenth amendment says-" she burped, "that if your mother spits your cum into your friend's mouth, you are legally obligated to finger your friend till she orgasms."

"I don't know what to say to that."

She sat up, her back against his side, and found his hand, bringing it between her legs.

"Just try playing Mario one handed. I've heard about people playing it like that. Or you could read some shitty hentai."

There was a quiet pause, then Peter sighed, grabbed the clicker and turned the volume back on. His finger's slipped beneath the wasteband of her sweatpants and her underwear. Gertrude ran her tongue around her teeth and grimaced.

"Y'know," she said, "you should have more pineapple in your diet."

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story, I've also uploaded it onto Literotica.com, where you comment on it anonymously, or rate and fave it if you have an account!  
> Link:  
> https://www.literotica.com/s/the-narratio-of-his-moms-fellatio
> 
> May or may not get a sequel one day.


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